


I Like You

by thepinkunicorn



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Demeter and Misto are best friends, M/M, Misto owns a bookstore, Tugger is a rockstar, human!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinkunicorn/pseuds/thepinkunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quentin is Misto, Ian is Tugger</p><p>Quentin doesn't know how he allowed himself to get dragged to Ian Tugger's concert by Demeter. But it had happened, and he had somehow met the man, and now... he was being stalked by an international pop sensation? A story in which Ian tries to woo a "I want nothing to do with you" Quentin. </p><p>This can technically be read without any knowledge of Cats, the Musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, because sadly I am neither the musical genius that is Andrew Lloyd Webber, nor the wonderful poet that is T.S. Eliot.

Quentin regretted ever agreeing to go to this concert with Demeter.

Hordes of girls were standing in droves around him, screaming at the top of their lungs, almost overpowering the loud, pounding music that blasted from the six-foot tall speakers standing only ten feet away from him. Bright, multi-colored hues of light blinded him from the stage, and he wondered if he could get some ear plugs somewhere.

Demeter, who was standing beside him, grabbed his shoulders and shook him excitedly, screaming in his ear.

"Quentin! I'm so excited! Aren't you?!"

He grimaced, and angled himself away from her mouth, so as to prolong his good hearing while he still had it.

"So excited," he deadpanned, and she glared at him for a moment before releasing him and jumping up and down, squealing, as the lights flickered to cue the entrance of the upcoming performance.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he pondered what he had done to deserve this living hell.

When Demeter had come up to him last week, showing him the front row tickets she had procured for Ian Tugger's sold-out concert, he had scoffed at the stupidity of it all. Ever since the man had emerged from the music industry, girls had been enraptured with his "gorgeous body" and his "rough, sensuous voice."

Even Demeter had been caught up in the hype. When she had asked him to accompany her to the man's concert, he had been ready to outright refuse, but when she gave him her signature puppy-dog eyes, he reconsidered.

He hadn't really been to a concert since he was little, and he had never sat front row before, so even though he despised the music sensation that was Ian Tugger, he thought it could still be amusing to go - especially since Demeter had lit up when he had said yes.

What he did for his best friend.

He sighed and braced himself for the roar of the crowd that was sure to grow louder as soon as the pop sensation hit the stage.

He could feel the tension in the air like it was something tangible he could reach out and touch. Demeter was shaking excitedly beside him and Quentin wondered whether he could pretend to go to the bathroom and just stand outside the stadium for the whole concert.

But he couldn't leave Demeter alone. Not only would she kill him, but he'd feel awful about it.

All too soon, the crowd had grown restless and had started chanting the musician's name, growing louder each time they uttered "Ian! Ian! Ian! Ian!" until the stadium echoed with the two syllables.

Quentin drew in a sharp intake of breath as everyone in the crowd started screaming all of a sudden, louder than they had before, and he spotted a glimpse of the man they had all been waiting for by the side of the stage, before he felt a sharp pain rattle though his head and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

When Quentin opened his eyes, harsh fluorescent lighting glared down at him, causing sharp pricks of pain to puncture all his pain receptors.

He squeezed his eyes shut immediately and grabbed his head, hoping and praying for the stars behind his closed eyelids to stop spinning. He tried to sit up, but couldn't muster up the strength. His ears would not stop ringing.

Suddenly, hands grasped at his shoulders, and a familiar voice shouted at him through the haze. "Quentin!? Quentin! Can you hear me?!"

It was Demeter's voice, sounding frantic and shrill.

He tried to tell her that yes, he was fine, and could she stop yelling, please, but couldn't get anything out of his mouth but a few unintelligible gurgles.

Another voice spoke, calmly this time, in a quiet, soothing tone beside his ear. "Quentin? Can you hear me?"

Why did everyone keep asking him that question? He tried to ask, but it came out more of, "Whado aske?"

"That's okay," came the voice again. "Just take it easy."

Why did he have to take it easy?

Then, when he again tried to open his eyes, and the stabbing in his head resumed tenfold, he realized why.

"Wha happen?" he managed to choke out, as his eyes slowly, and painfully, adjusted to the brightness of the room. Soon, he was able to see Demeter's face looking down at him worriedly, and he tried to reassure her he was okay with a shaky smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Don't you remember?" Demeter asked him, her forehead crinkling with concern.

The voice spoke again. "He might have temporary amnesia about the event."

Demeter looked off to his left and frowned visibly.

"What event?" Quentin asked, extremely confused as to where he was and why he was there. Why weren't they at the concert?

"You suffered a major blow to the head," the voice replied.

"Wait. What?" Quentin had no idea what the voice was talking about, and he watched as Demeter's mouth quirked into a smile.

"A fan accidentally hit you from behind and knocked you out," she told him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Suddenly, everything came back to Quentin. The screaming, seeing Ian Tugger emerge from the side of the stage, the incredible pain at the back of his skull. He moved to touch it, and felt a large knot already formed near the top of his head.

He groaned. Only he would be this unlucky.

"Am I okay?"

"You're absolutely fine. A minor concussion, but nothing major. You should be completely back to normal in a couple of weeks. But I'm going to have you stay backstage until the end of the concert. Bright lights and loud sounds will not help your condition in the slightest," the voice again spoke.

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief, and moved to sit up, slowly this time.

Demeter grabbed his arm, and led him up to a sitting position. Finally he was able to see where he was. He was sitting on a stretcher, in a small white room filled with a table and a few armchairs, in which one of them sat a young woman dressed in a paramedic uniform.

She smiled kindly at him. "How are you feeling?"

Quentin grimaced slightly. "Like there are a thousand tiny little knives constantly stabbing me in the head."

Her lips quirked, and her eyes twinkled. "I bet." She moved to get up, and walked over to the table where there lay a large red bag with a white cross and the words "First Aid" on it. From it, she pulled a large bottle of Aspirin, and a small bottle of water.

As she handed him the small water, and three Aspirins, she smiled at him. "You're going to feel pain for the next week, so I advise taking two tablets every six hours to alleviate some of the pain. I also advise avoiding large blunt objects and screaming fans for the next month," she smirked. "Think you can handle that?"

Quentin smiled as he swallowed the three pills all at once, and nodded. "I think I can manage that."

"Good," she smiled, as she turned to pack up her bag and walk to the door. "I think I can leave you in good hands, now."

Demeter smirked and saluted at the young woman. "Aye, aye, Doc! You can count on me!"

Quentin rolled his eyes, regarding his best friend with an exasperated sigh.

Always so melodramatic.

The door clicked shut behind the paramedic, and then they were alone. They both sat there for a few moments, not sure how to break the silence, when Quentin suddenly burst out, "I'm so sorry, Dem! I know how much you were looking forward to seeing this concert, and then I had to go and ruin it!"

Demeter just turned to him and laughed. "Only you would apologize for getting knocked unconscious."

Quentin made an indignant noise in the back of his throat, and opened his mouth to retort, when she silenced him with her hand.

"Seriously, Quentin. It's okay. It's not your fault. Besides," her eyes turned mischievous, then; a malicious grin quirking her lips, "now I have the chance to explore Ian Tugger's dressing room!"

Her voice squeaked as she said his name, and Quentin groaned, wondering why he hadn't seen this coming. He should have seen this coming.

Demeter leapt up off the stretcher, and Quentin could see her practically tingling with excitement. She grabbed his arm, pulling him with her, urging him on his feet, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in a flurry of anticipation.

He felt dizzy for a moment as he grew accustomed to his center of gravity shifting, willing the stars whirling around his head to still, and Demeter looked at him, concern furrowing her brow.

"You okay?" she asked him.

He paused, and then nodded, and immediately he was pulled along to the door, and out into the empty hall.

Quentin was a bit surprised as to the lack of security personnel in the long, junk-cluttered hallway, but Demeter didn't seem to even pause to think about it as she side-stepped a small speaker, and started trotting down the hall, glancing left and right at all the doors they passed along the way.

He didn't really know what she was looking for. A large plaque emblazoned with the musician's name on it? A huge glittery silver star hanging from the door like you saw in the movies?

He wasn't sure, but it seemed like Demeter did. He suddenly had a thought. Had she been planning this ever since he had been brought backstage? Had she been observing the hallways they had passed through for an idea of where to go when she had the chance to explore? It sounded just like something Demeter would do.

They passed through hallway after hallway. He had no idea how this area could be so large. Granted, Victoria Grove Concert Hall was the largest building in the city, but he never considered the fact that it could be this  _enormous_.

Quentin continued to trail along behind Demeter quietly, formulating an excuse in his head as to why they were roaming around in case a security guard found them, even though he didn't find it very probable, considering how long they had been wandering around, and hadn't yet come across a single person.

Eventually she stopped, and Quentin had to catch himself to avoid crashing into her. They were standing in front of a door that looked just like the ones they had been passing for the past few minutes. The only difference was a "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging from the doorknob, and a piece of printer paper taped to the door, with the words "Dressing Room" printed on it.

Demeter was staring at it like she had just discovered the Holy Grail. "This is it," she whispered, and Quentin watched as she turned to look at him with a look of unbridled glee. Oh God. What had he gotten himself into?

Before he could so much as blink, Demeter had grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open. Quentin opened his mouth to protest, but Demeter didn't even pause before walking inside.

Quentin stood there for a moment, weighing his options, before deciding he really didn't want to get caught loitering in the hallway by himself. At least if he was with Demeter, he could blame the whole thing on her.

Bracing himself for the conflict he was sure was about to ensue, he stepped inside the dressing room...

To find Demeter staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the flashiest rack of clothing he had ever seen in his life. His eyes felt like they were being attacked by a multi-colored unicorn, and the bright flashes of rhinestones and poofs of feathers made him feel like he was back with his little sisters playing dress-up. He didn't know whether to look away or puke. Maybe both.

Demeter, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what she wanted to do.

"This is the most absolutely amazing thing ever!" she shrieked, as she flung herself at the rack of costumes, wrapping herself in swathes of fur and layers of satiny ribbons.

Quentin couldn't help but roll his eyes and snort.

His friend stopped to glare at him. "What's so funny?"

Quentin couldn't stop the chuckle that burst from his lips. The whole thing was just so absurd. The chuckle turned into a giggle, and the giggle turned into a laugh, and soon enough he was doubled over in pure mirth, clutching at his sides. "It looks like-" he swallowed a deep breath, trying to get a sentence out, "he mutilated a-" he swiped at the tears appearing in the corner of his eyes, "a unicorn and a peacock!"

Demeter continued to glare at him, but she couldn't stay serious for long, and soon enough she was laughing right along with him. "It does, doesn't it?" she grinned.

Quentin nodded, completely out of breath, but instantly froze when he heard a deep, unfamiliar voice say, "And what, may I ask, is so funny?" from behind him.

He heard Demeter squeak as he twirled around, smile completely gone, to see none other than Ian Tugger standing in the doorway.

Shit.

Quentin stood there, speechless, mind completely blank of all the excuses he had made up not minutes before, gaping at the one man he most definitely did not want to see. He had no idea what to do, and thankfully, he didn't have to figure it out, because Demeter broke the silence for him.

"Ohmigodisyou!" she slurred out in an excited squeal.

Ian raised an eyebrow, and shifted his gaze to Demeter. "Might I ask who you are?"

It was then that Quentin finally found the will to move.

"We were just leaving," he burst out, as he turned to grab Demeter by the arm, and pull her forward, before he ran into a huge wall of muscle.

"So sorry," came the deep, rumbling voice from above him. "I can't let you do that."

Quentin glanced up at the face of his detainer, and gulped. How were they going to get out of this mess?

"Oh, but we really must. The paramedic who brought us back here is going to wonder where we are," Quentin rushed out, hoping he sounded convincing.

A flicker of recognition flashed across Ian's face, and he raised his eyebrows at Quentin. "Are you the one who got knocked unconscious by a fan?"

Quentin furrowed his brow, and grimaced. "So?"

Ian smirked. "Oh, nothing. It's just interesting to meet the person who was incompetent enough to get knocked unconscious by a flailing  _limb_  face-to-face."

Quentin glared at the brown-haired musician. "What can I say? I didn't realize people could get so excited over a musician as trite as you, so I wasn't really paying attention."

Ian just laughed. "You're cute. I like you."

Quentin took a step back, feeling a bit confused, and a bit offended.

"So what's your name?" Ian asked, grabbing an apple from a bowl on the table beside him that Quentin hadn't even realized was there.

Quentin ignored the question, instead opting to just glare at the man, hoping maybe he could intimidate Ian into letting them go.

He didn't expect Demeter to pipe in behind him, "Quentin. His name is Quentin."

Ian grinned at her. "Thanks, darling."

Quentin heard Demeter squeal excitedly at the pet name, and he rolled his eyes. At this rate, they were never going to leave.

"So, Quentin," Ian eyed him hungrily, as he took a bite of the apple, "if you think I'm so awful, why were you at my concert in the first place?"

Quentin couldn't help but watch, mesmerized, as Ian chewed slowly, droplets of juice dangling precariously from the edge of his bottom lip.

"I was guilted into coming," he finally responded bitterly, glancing at Demeter behind him for the first time since Ian had appeared, who shot him a look.

"Ah ha. I see," the brunette nodded sagely. "And yet I find you back here in my dressing room."

"Don't flatter yourself," Quentin spat out. "It wasn't my idea."

Ian glanced over at Demeter again, and the edges of his lips quirked. "Well. I'm glad you have such a forceful girlfriend," he said, as he looked back to Quentin, and winked.

Quentin blinked, extremely confused. Girlfriend?

It was about two seconds before Demeter opened her mouth that he realized Ian's false assumption.

"Oh, we're n-" Quentin stuck out his arm quickly and muffled Demeter's words, before pulling her close to him.

"Yes, girlfriend. Well, that makes one of us," he muttered, and he, for the second time, began pulling Demeter forward, trying to push past the musician that was towering above him.

Ian kept moving backwards along with Quentin, grinning, until he was leaning casually against the door.

"Can you let us out, please?" Quentin ground out, scowling up at the brunette.

"Eh. I don't know… I think I need a little _convincing_ ," the smile he was giving Quentin was positively predatory.

Quentin couldn't do anything but stare, unable to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions that was rising in his chest. This guy just wouldn't quit.

"If you give me your number, maybe I'll consider letting you guys go."

Quentin could just feel Demeter's silent scream, and he couldn't stanch a rising sense of dislike well up in his throat.

He paused, suddenly feeling dizzy, and realized it wasn't dislike rushing up from the depths of his stomach, but a large amount of bile.

A few seconds later, he was staring at a pile of vomit resting on a pair of shiny black shoes, and then his vision went blurry, and for the second time that night, his consciousness faded into nothing.


	2. Insufferable Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was co-written by my friend tapemonkey (her fanfiction alias), Kathryn in real life. Since I have permanent writer's block, I use her as a lovely co-author. She is a life-saver, but she also makes me die laughing when I read her excerpts.

Quentin stared down at the pile of books in his hand, and tried to find the motivation to go put them back on the shelves. He sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for books today.

Ever since the concert two nights before, he hadn’t been able to even look at a line of words without feeling like his head was about to explode. He had been taking the aspirin like the paramedic had told him, but it seemed like he had a constant migraine.

He didn’t want to blame Demeter for how he was feeling, but it was totally all her fault.

He didn’t remember much after he fainted. He remembered blurs of panicked voices and soft surfaces, hands prodding him and the voice of the paramedic speaking to him softly. He had no idea what exactly had happened with Ian, or whether or not they had gotten in trouble for sneaking into his dressing room.

He had been ignoring Demeter ever since he had gotten home. He had gotten over the guilt of ruining her night - now he just felt annoyed that she had forced him into an awkward situation with an extremely infuriating ass.

He sighed and dropped the books on the counter, before flopping down into the seat behind the cash register. He leaned his head back against the wall, and considered closing the shop early, to go back to his apartment to sleep for the rest of the day.

He had just about decided when the bell above the door rang, and he opened his eyes to see his next customer.

He immediately closed his eyes again, and hoped hallucinations were a side effect of concussions, because Ian Tugger had _not_ just walked through the front door of Quentin’s bookstore.

He kept his eyes shut, praying that he was dreaming, or, better yet, insane, but when he heard that distinctly familiar rumbling voice utter a “hey” directly above, he knew he wasn’t imagining things.

He slowly opened his eyes, and the image of Ian Tugger draped in black skinny jeans and a leather jacket appeared before him. He groaned inwardly.

Remembering proper work etiquette, Quentin grumbled out, “How may I help you?” before plastering on a fake smile and pushing himself up out of his chair with as little grace as he could muster.

Ian grinned. “How indeed? Well, you could go on a date with me.”

Quentin’s smile faded immediately. This nightmare just wouldn’t end. He sighed, and wondered if throwing a famous pop star out of his bookstore would get him hunted down by boy-crazed teenagers. Or Demeter, for that matter. Demeter!

He smiled thinly up at the brown-haired man. “I’m deeply sorry, but I don’t know how my girlfriend would feel about that.” Quentin inwardly cringed about how Demeter would feel about him going on a date with Ian. She would probably die out of pure ecstatic joy.

Ian’s smile only widened. “Oh, you mean Demeter?”

Quentin felt his stomach drop. This couldn’t be good. “Yes, my gir-”

“Oh, please, Quentin.” He wasn’t sure why his name seemed so sultry coming from Ian’s lips. “I know you’re gay.”

Of course Demeter had told him.

He paused, staring curiously at Ian. Really, though. Why did he even care?

“I told you. I like you.” Apparently he was so tired he had spoken that out loud. Great.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry, but I don’t like you.”

Ian placed his hands on the counter, leaned down to Quentin’s eye level, whispered, “Not yet, you don’t,” and winked.

Quentin took several deep breaths and steadied himself.

"I am perfectly capable of calling the police and reporting sexual harassment in my bookstore," said Quentin threateningly.

The brunette just laughed. "But what if I want to find a book? Last I checked, there was no harm in that."

Quentin tried not to cry in frustration. "Then get a book."

"What if I don't know where it is?"

Quentin considered slamming his head against the desk. He resorted to a long, deep sigh.

"Jemima would be glad to help you find the books you're looking for," he said, with the fake cheeriness that had been drilled into him after years of dealing with insufferable customers. Jemina, his small, dark-haired sales assistant, glared over at him at the sound of her name.

Ian whistled as she approached. “Not too bad, Janine.”

"My girlfriend could beat you up," she replied haughtily, leading him away.

As soon as they were around the corner, Quentin slammed his head on the counter, blunt force trauma be damned. He didn’t know how much more of this hell he could take.

Hoping to get a few minutes to himself before he had to deal with Ian again, he walked - ran - to the back room. There, he made himself a cup of tea, and made a few notes on his calendar regarding future book club meetings that he wanted to hold.

Then, when he was sure he wouldn’t scream the next time he saw a flash of leather, he walked back out to the cashier counter with his cup of tea, not surprised to see Ian Tugger standing there proudly, a book in his hand. He was even less surprised to see the title.

"I'm not even going to ask what you're doing with 'The Joys of Gay Sex,' so I'm just gonna ring you up and be done with this," said Quentin. He tried his best to sound supremely disinterested, but he could definitely feel a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Just have to refresh my memory a bit," said the musician, practically purring. He leaned so close to Quentin that Quentin could smell his cinnamon gum. "You know... before I pin you to my bed, strip you naked, and ravish you until you can't walk for a week."

"That'll be £10.95," squeaked Quentin, hoping his face wasn't actually as red as the wallpaper.


	3. Absolut and Ben&Jerry's Makes a Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in forever. Life has been hectic. But I'm finally in college so (hopefully) I'll have more time to write? This is a really short chapter but I hope to put another one up tomorrow.

When he heard the knock on the door, his first reaction was to turn the television louder and ignore whoever had the indecency to bother him at this ungodly hour.

“My God, Quentin! Stop being such a drama queen and open the door! It’s only 7:30!”

He heaved a huge sigh and literally rolled off the couch, collapsing in a twisted heap of limbs as he debated getting up. He was almost ready to resign himself to making a blanket fort on the carpet when the knocking started up again, this time louder and even more annoying.

He groaned loudly, and cursed ever becoming friends with such a loud person.

A huge bottle of vodka and two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s greeted him when he swung open his apartment door. He paused, before grabbing the container of Phish Food to hug to his chest, walking back down the hallway to grab two spoons from the kitchen.

“Just because you actually spent money on the best ice cream ever doesn’t mean I automatically forgive you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just put on The Avengers and don’t make me drink this by myself.”

Demeter flopped down on the couch next to Quentin, and huddled down in the pillows and blankets Quentin had surrounded himself with not four hours before.

His Netflix queue blared brightly in the dimly lit room, before the loud Avengers theme music punctured the silence.

They sat like that, oohing and ahhing over the special effects, laughing at Tony and Steve’s obvious flirting, drinking every time they catched a glimpse of a pair of too-tight pants. This was what they did every time they fought. By the time two hours had passed, Quentin had eaten over half a tub of ice cream and drunk over half a bottle of Absolut, and his feelings of annoyance with Demeter had fled, leaving only fierce fondness.

While the credits rolled they laid there, draped over each other, feeling like they had consumed way too much, and in a matter of minutes, they were fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

Quentin woke slowly, his head pounding, the smell of eggs and toast drifting to his nostrils. He groaned as he sat up, everywhere aching.

Maybe drinking all of that alcohol hadn’t been the smartest decision.

The sound of Demeter singing horridly to the sound of Ian Tugger’s latest hit slowly brought him to stand up and walk into the kitchen, where the small redhead was dancing awkwardly, and cooking what looked to be a spinach omelet.

“Demeter, turn that blasted music off. If you can even call it that.”

Demeter turned around and stuck her tongue out at him, before continuing to sing louder and even more off-key until the song ended a few moments later.

“And how’s the sleepy head?” she cooed, turning around to hand him a plate of food and a mug of coffee. He smiled gratefully and went to sit down.

“I’ll never understand how such a small person can consume such a large amount of alcohol, and not feel any of it the next morning.”

“It’s a gift,” Demeter sing-songed, as she walked over to the table, her own breakfast in hand.

“One I wish I could steal.”

Quentin was allowed only a few moments of peace before he was bombarded with Demeter’s interrogation.

“Sooo. How did it go?”

“How did what go?”

“Oh, you know exactly what.”

Quentin paused, chewing slowly. Demeter just stared at him in exasperation.

“Oh. You mean my second encounter with that incredibly arrogant wanker? Yeah. It went terrific.”

Demeter groaned. “Were you even nice to him?”

“ _Nice_?! He practically sexually harassed me and then tried to seduce me by buying a book. So, no, Demeter. I didn’t coo over his choice to buy ‘The Joys of Gay Sex’ and then invite him over for tea.”

Demeter snorted. “The joys…. of gay sex?”

Quentin harumphed. “Don’t even ask. It was a freak decision one night when I was hellishly drunk.”

“Oh, I bet,” she smirked at him over her mug.

“Can we just forget about it already? It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.”

The look on Demeter’s face made Quentin’s stomach flip-flop unpleasantly.

“Oh God.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh God. Demeter! What did you do?!”

“Nothing, really. I just - you don’t know how persuasive he can be!”

Quentin groaned. “What was it? What did you say to him?”

An unsettling silence filled the air before Demeter mumbled “Imayormaynothavetoldhimaboutthepoetryreading.”

Quentin couldn’t do anything but stare. That, and resist the urge to go jump out the kitchen window.

“You didn’t,” he whispered.

She at least had the decency to look sheepish. Quentin shook his head slowly, praying that he would wake up in a minute to realize that he was still watching Game of Thrones.

“How could you have - I’ve been preparing for months for this, Demeter!”

“I know! I’m sorry!”

“I can’t believe - you can’t do this to me!” he shouted, burying his face in his hands. “I need to go to this reading! But now, some sex-crazed _lunatic_ is going to be there, laughing at me the entire time!”

This was an utter nightmare. He couldn’t _believe_ Demeter. He had been looking forward to this reading for such a long time, and _now_...

“Maybe he won’t even be there,” she said hopefully.

Quentin sighed. “Oh, he’ll be there. You can count on that.” Quentin just knew that stuck-up arrogant prick would be there. And all to watch him fail. “No.”

“What?”

Quentin suddenly sat up straight, and stuck out his chin. “No. I won’t let that bastard ruin this for me. I’m going to do awesome, and there’s no way he can stop me.”

Demeter smirked. “There’s the spirit.”

Quentin got back to eating with a new resolve. He would not let this affect him. He would not.

Demeter clapped her hands together. “Well, now that you’re determined and all, let’s go get you a cute new outfit!”

Quentin groaned.

****  
  



End file.
